"Oh!"
was Peggy's only exclamation, and there was a shadow of
disappointment in her eyes.

"Come
in, Peggy, and I'll read aloud," was Monty's cheerful greeting
as he stood before her.

"No,
I must go," said Peggy, confusedly. "I thought you might be
nervous about the storm — and — "

"And
you came to let me out?" Monty had never been so happy.

"Yes,
and I don't care what the others say. I thought you were suffering —
" But at that moment the boat gave a lurch which threw her
across the threshold into Monty's arms. They crashed against the
wall, and he held her a moment and forgot the storm. When she drew
away from him she showed him the open door and freedom. She could not
speak.

"Where
are the others?" he asked, bracing himself in the doorway.

"Oh,
Monty," she cried, "we must not go to them. They will think
me a traitor."

"Why
were you a traitor, Peggy?" he demanded, turning toward her
suddenly.

"Oh
— oh, because it seemed so cruel to keep you locked up through the
storm," she answered, blushing.

"And
there was no other reason?" he persisted.

"Don't,
please don't!" she cried, piteously, and he misunderstood her
emotion. It was clear that she was merely sorry for him.

"Never
mind, Peggy, it's all right. You stood by me and I'll stand by you.
Come on; we'll face the mob and I'll do the fighting."

Together
they made their way into the presence of the mutineers, who were
crowded into the main cabin.

"Well,
here's a conspiracy," cried Dan DeMille, but there was no anger
in his voice. "How did you escape? I was just thinking of
unlocking your door, Monty, but the key seemed to be missing."

Peggy
displayed it triumphantly.

"By
Jove," cried Dan. "This is rank treachery. Who was on
guard?"

A
steward rushing through the cabin at this moment in answer to frantic
calls from Bragdon furnished an eloquent reply to the question.

"It
was simple," said Monty. "The guards deserted their post
and left the key behind."

"Then
it is up to me to pay you a thousand dollars."

"Not
at all," protested Monty, taken aback. "I did not escape of
my own accord. I had help. The money is yours. And now that I am
free," he added, quietly, "let me say that this boat does
not go to Boston."

"Just
what I expected," cried Vanderpool.

"She's
going straight to New York!" declared Monty. The words were
hardly uttered when a heavy sea sent him sprawling across the cabin
and he concluded, "or to the bottom."

"Not
so bad as that," said Captain Perry, whose entrance had been
somewhat hastened by the lurch of the boat. "But until this
blows over I must keep you below." He laughed but he saw they
were not deceived. "The seas are pretty heavy and the decks are
being holy-stoned for nothing, but I wouldn't like to have any of you
washed overboard by mistake."

The
hatches were battened down, and it was a sorry company that tried to
while away the evening in the main cabin. Monty's chaffing about the
advantages of the North Cape over the stormy Atlantic was not
calculated to raise the drooping spirits, and it was very early when
he and his shattered guests turned in. There was little sleep on
board the "Flitter" that night. Even if it had been easy to
forget the danger, the creaking of the ship and the incessant roar of
the water were enough for wakefulness. With each lurch of the boat it
seemed more incredible that it could endure. It was such a mite of a
thing to meet so furious an attack. As it rose on the wave to pause
in terror on its crest before sinking shivering into the trough, it
made the breath come short and the heart stand still. Through the
night the fragile little craft fought its lonely way, bravely
ignoring its own weakness and the infinite strength of its enemy. To
the captain, lashed to the bridge, there were hours of grave anxiety
— hours when he feared each wave as it approached, and wondered
what new damage it had done as it receded. As the wind increased
toward morning he felt a sickening certainty that the brave little
boat was beaten. Somehow she seemed to lose courage, to waver a bit
and almost give up the fight. He watched her miserably as the dismal
dawn came up out of the sea. Yet it was not until seven o'clock that
the crash came, which shook the passen­gers out of their berths
and filled them with shivering terror. The whirling of the broken
shaft seemed to consume the ship. In every cabin it spoke with
horrible vividness of disaster. The clamor of voices and the rush of
many feet, which followed, meant but one thing. Almost instantly the
machinery was stopped — an ominous silence in the midst of the dull
roar of the water and the cry of the wind.

It
was a terrified crowd that quickly gathered in the main cabin, but it
was a brave one. There were no cries and few tears. They expected
anything and were ready for the worst, but they would not show the
white feather. It was Mrs. Dan who broke the tension. "I made
sure of my pearls," she said; "I thought they would be
appreciated at the bottom of the sea."

Brewster
came in upon their laughter. "I like your nerve, people,"
he exclaimed, "you are all right. It won't be so bad now. The
wind has dropped."

Long
afterward when they talked the matter over, DeMille claimed that the
only thing that bothered him that night was the effort to decide
whether the club of which he and Monty were members would put in the
main hallway two black-bordered cards, each bearing a name, or only
one with both names. Mr. Valentine regretted that he had gone on for
years paying life insurance premiums when now his only relatives were
on the boat and would die with him.

The
captain, looking pretty rocky after his twenty-hour vigil, summoned
his chief. "We're in a bad hole, Mr. Brewster," he said
when they were alone, "and no mistake. A broken shaft and this
weather make a pretty poor combination."

"Is
there no chance of making a port for repairs?"

"I
don't see it, sir. It looks like a long pull."

"We
are way off our course, I suppose?" and Monty's coolness won
Captain Perry's admiration.

"I
can't tell just how much until I get the sun, but this wind is hell.
I suspect we've drifted pretty far."

"Come
and get some coffee, captain. While the storm lasts the only thing to
do is to cheer up the women and trust to luck."

"You
are the nerviest mate I ever shipped with, Mr. Brewster," and
the captain's hand gripped Monty's in a way that meant things. It was
a tribute he appreciated.

During
the day Monty devoted himself to his guests, and at the first sign of
pensiveness he was ready with a jest or a story. But he did it all
with a tact that inspired the crowd as a whole with hope, and no one
suspected that he himself was not cheerful. For Peggy Gray there was
a special tenderness, and he made up his mind that if things should
go wrong he would tell her that he loved her.

"It
could do no harm," he thought to him­self, "and I want
her to know."

Toward
night the worst was over. The sea had gone down and the hatches were
opened for a while to admit air, though it was still too rough to
venture out. The next morn­ing was bright and clear. When the
com­pany gathered on deck the havoc created by the storm was
apparent. Two of the boats had been completely carried away and the
launch was rendered useless by a large hole in the stern.

"You
don't mean to say that we will drift about until the repairs can be
made?" asked Mrs. Dan in alarm.

"We
are three hundred miles off the course already," explained
Monty, "and it will be pretty slow traveling under sail."

It
was decided to make for the Canary Islands, where repairs could be
made and the voyage resumed. But where the wind had raged a few days
before, it had now disap­peared altogether, and for a week the
"Flitter' tossed about absolutely unable to make head­way.
The first of August had arrived and Monty himself was beginning; to
be nervous. With the fatal day not quite two months away, things
began to look serious. Over one hundred thousand dollars would remain
after he had settled the expenses of the cruise, and he was
helplessly drifting in mid-ocean. Even if the necessary repairs could
be made promptly, it would take the "Flitter" fourteen days
to sail from the Canaries to New York. Figure as hard as he could he
saw no way out of the unfortunate situation. Two days more elapsed
and still no sign of a breeze. He made sure that September 23d would
find him still drift­ing and still in possession of one hundred
thousand superfluous dollars.

At
the end of ten days the yacht had pro­gressed but two hundred
miles and Monty was beginning to plan the rest of his existence on a
capital of $100,000. He had given up all hope of the Sedgwick legacy
and was trying to be resigned to his fate, when a tramp steamer was
suddenly sighted. Brewster ordered the man on watch to fly a flag of
distress. Then he reported to the captain and told what he had done.
With a bound the captain rushed on deck and tore the flag from the
sailor's hand.

"That
was my order," said Monty, nettled at the captain's manner.

"You
want them to get a line on us and claim salvage, do you?"

"What
do you mean?"

"If
they get a line on us in response to that flag they will claim the
entire value of the ship as salvage. You want to spend another
$200,000 on this boat?"

Communication
was slow, but after an apparently endless amount of signaling, the
captain finally announced that the freight steamer was bound for
Southampton and would tow the "Flitter" to that point for a
price.

"Back
to Southampton!" groaned Monty. "That means months before
we get back to New York."

"He
says he can get us to Southampton in ten days," interrupted the
captain.

"I
can do it, I can do it," he cried, to the consternation of his
guests who wondered if his mind were affected. "If he'll land us
in Southampton by the 27th, I'll pay him up to one hundred thousand
dollars."